


Wedding Day

by SeaweedWrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Situation, Awkwardness, Blow Job, Boys Doing More Than Kissing, Boys Kissing, Coitus Interruptus, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fluff, For Wasting Your Gum 2019, Hand Job, Humor, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Mainly Mystrade, Marriage, No Angst, No Mention of Eurus, No Mention of Moriarty, Oral Sex, Past Greg Lestrade/Karen Lestrade - Freeform, Porn with Feelings, Porn with some plot, Romance, Sherlock And John Did Not Want To See That, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson - Freeform, Sherlock Is A Good Little Brother, Sherlock Needs Brain Bleach, Sherlock playing the violin, Silly, Smut, Takes Place After Series 4, Wedding, background Johnlock, but not really, gay wedding, mycroft holmes/Greg Lestrade - Freeform, not beta-ed, sort of public sex, up against a wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22873879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaweedWrites/pseuds/SeaweedWrites
Summary: After way too long denying their feelings for each other, Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade get married.Of course, as it goes with most weddings, not everything goes off without a hitch.Especially Greg.
Relationships: Anthea/Unnamed Partner, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Past Greg Lestrade/Karen Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanguisuga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/gifts).



> Oddly enough, despite Mystrade being my OTP, (Yes, I like Johnlock and am an unrepentant multi-shipper, but Mystrade with always be number one with me) this is actually my FIRST EVER Mystrade fic that I've written, so I hope you guys like it. Also, It's my first fairly smutty porn, so be gentle with me please. 
> 
> I want to thank sanguisuga for all her help and encouragement while writing this. It is 100% her fault that this was written, so it is dedicated to her. She told me about this collection of fics that are being written to celebrate the day gay marriage was legalized in England (March 29th), and then gave me an awesome prompt when I told her that I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. 
> 
> Go find her on AO3- https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/  
> I HIGHLY recommend the 'Boys of Summer' series for all you fellow Mystraders out there! 
> 
> Because of the short time between finding out about WastingYourGum2019 and the deadline to finish, the fic is not beta-ed, so any mistakes are 100% my own. 
> 
> Extra Note: This has been languishing in my 'Partially Done' folder for almost a year now. So all I did was one last read-over and edit to make sure that it was okay before I posted it. I wrote this in March of 2019.
> 
> ENJOY!

As ceremonies went, it was... bearable. Despite what many would think about him, Mycroft had never been one for pretentious pomp and circumstance. Because of his job, he had to attend all sorts of balls, charity events, meetings, and dinners with well to do people- politicians and the like. He had no problems dressing in his finest. If he did say so himself, he thought he polished up quite well, and he liked showing off his finery. But when it came to the strict rules and hierarchy that were attached to these kind of events and social circles, he found it tedious, boring, and at times- downright unbearable. Thankfully, he was a master at covering his true feelings- an Ice Man to the end. He'd fooled kings, lords, and duchesses alike with his charming smile, and a firm (but not too firm) handshake.

Of course- after what had been over a decade of avoiding their feelings for each other, which led to a rather stunted courtship- when he and Greg had finally decided to get married, Greg had insisted on an actual wedding. Mycroft had argued that having it done at the local register's office would be perfectly adequate, but Greg would have nothing of it. The disagreement about their marriage, ironically, had been their first real row. It had ended with Greg storming out, getting a few beers at the pub, then crashing on Sally Donovan's couch for the night. After he had fallen asleep, she'd texted Mycroft that Greg was at her flat, safe and snoozing off the alcohol. 

He'd exchanged contact information with Sally soon after he and Greg had started their relationship. She'd found out about them accidentally, but had kept it a secret until such time as he and Greg had determined that they were comfortable about letting others know. They only spoke (or texted) occasionally. Mycroft knew that Greg had spent time on her couch when his relationship with Karen- his ex-wife- had finally ended for the last time. Apparently shagging a P.E. teacher while Greg was working hard to try to fix their relationship was the final nail in the coffin. 

Mycroft had to admit that he admired Sally. As a black woman, she had quite a bit stacked against her when it came to making her way in the world. And yet, she was a woman who was dead set in her principals and had worked quite hard to get where she was. She had her faults- though Mycroft couldn't count her hatred of his brother among them, he could easily understand where her animosity came from. She was determined, and didn’t take anyone’s shit, and for that he could appreciate her. 

After their argument, Greg had returned the next morning- hungover, but glad to be back. Mycroft internally noted that the fight had happened almost exactly six months after Greg had finally decided that having an apartment that was nearly empty because almost all of your belongings were in your lover's (much larger) flat was frankly ridiculous, and he should just take the next step and move in fully with Mycroft.

So he had. 

As much as Mycroft abhorred the idea of a large, pubic marriage, they had both finally agreed to a compromise. They'd have a ceremony, but it wouldn’t be at a church, and they'd keep the guest list as small as possible. Using Mycroft's many contacts, they found a small cottage on the outskirts of Essex that did garden weddings. The wedding would be set up outside, to be performed in the gazebo. If the weather turned foul, (a common occurrence in England) the cottage also had an indoor facility that could hold both the wedding and the reception as a backup.

Less than three months later, the wedding date arrived, and the weather did indeed hold- miracle of miracles. Despite the fact that Sherlock had the authority (which he had earned several years before) to marry them, Mycroft opted for a member of the London Met that Greg knew to perform the ceremony.

The guest list was mercifully short- less than thirty people. The majority of the guests were from the Met- men and women that Greg had worked with in his long police career. Mycroft had invited “Love”- Lady Smallwood and “Pollock” out of professional courtesy, and of course Anthea and her partner. Anthea was his “Best Man”, as Sally was for Greg. They only had one groomsman each, Sherlock for Mycroft, and John for Greg. 

Greg was ever the traditionalist, (even at a gay wedding) and he'd insisted that they sleep in separate locations the night before. Greg had offered to bed down on Sally’s couch and let Mycroft have the flat. Mycroft wouldn’t hear of him kipping on a couch the night before their wedding. He sited how it would leave Greg's back and shoulders sore, and he needed his soon to be husband at his best for both the ceremony, and the honeymoon. Mycroft let Greg have the run of their flat, while he stayed in a posh hotel on Baker Street, so he could use his brother’s flat to get ready for the wedding the next morning. 

In hindsight- Mycroft thought that next morning- using Sherlock and John's flat may not have been a good idea, It was hard to concentrate when there was a toddler running around the house, screaming at the top of her lungs that she didn’t want to wear the dress that Mycroft had spent entirely too much money on to only be worn once. Rosie was going to be their flower girl, after all. 

In the end, John and Rosie compromised on one of her own dresses that she spent as much time in as her daddy would allow, and Mycroft was able to find enough time to get dressed in relative peace. 

They had both opted for basic black tuxedos (Greg, the traditionalist strikes again), with a dark blue cummerbund and a white carnation on their lapels. The two groomsman had the same, and the “Best Men” had matching deep blue tops with spaghetti straps and white carnations, and long, black flowing skirts that ended at their ankles.

The wedding was, of course, not the first time Mycroft had seen his lover in a tuxedo. He'd taken Greg to a few of the rather boring governmental functions that he'd been forced to attend. He avoided taking Greg to his 'to-dos' as much as he could, because they were so tiresome and exceedingly stodgy and dull that he didn't want Greg to have to suffer as well. But that didn’t lessen how handsome he thought the DCI looked whenever Greg donned a bespoke suit. And, as expected, when the wedding began, Mycroft felt his heartbeat grow faster as he watched his lover down the aisle. 

The ceremony was kept brief- by request of Mycroft, of course. There was an introduction, a short speech by each of the grooms, the exchange of rings, and an extraordinarily short kiss after they were announced as married husbands. 

Mycroft had never really be one for public displays of affection. He never kissed Greg in public, and only rarely ever held his hand. He knew that it disappointed Greg, who had fewer compunctions about open sentiment. Mycroft honestly was actively trying to do better, but such demonstrative showings were something that the man had trained himself out of many decades ago. He knew it would take time for him to change such a fundamental part of himself. And Greg- loyal, loving Greg, understood and had always been inordinately patient about it. 

After the ceremony there had been food, and speeches, (thankfully much less exciting that the one that had happened at John’s wedding) and eventually, dancing. One again, Sherlock had composed a waltz (which had not ended in a life changing deduction this time), and then the party had begun in earnest. 

It had taken a while for Mycroft and Greg to make the rounds of all the guests- thanking them for coming and receiving their well wishes. By the time they'd visited with each person, everyone was busy drinking champagne and dancing to whatever the popular songs of the time were (Mycroft and Greg had left that part of the wedding planning up to John and Molly, who were much more up on modern culture). Mycroft had every intention of implementing his plan to find somewhere to divest Greg of that tuxedo- the one that had been driving him crazy all bloody day. 

When he found a quiet moment where the people around them were otherwise occupied, Mycroft took Greg’s hand and led him away from the crowd and the loud thumping bass of the music, and towards the back of the small building- to the rooms where the chairs and tables were stored- small meeting offices that had been turned into storage areas. 

“I’d ask what you are doing, but I have a pretty damn good idea.” Greg joked as they passed various furniture repositories. Finally, Mycroft found a room that was relatively empty and tried the door. Lucky enough for them, it was unlocked- though that wasn't really much of a deterrent. Mycroft could have picked it in less than a minute. 

No sooner had Mycroft pulled Greg in and closed the door, than Greg took the initiative and pushed his new husband against the wall with a shove, illiciting a grunt from the taller man. 

“Fuck, My. D'you know how fuckin' gorgeous you look in a tux? It should be bloody illegal. I’ve been havin' to adjust my trousers all bloody day to not embarrass myself.”

“Well, then, Gregory. By all means, let me help you with those troublesome trousers of yours.” The look on Mycroft’s face was positively predatory. He leaned up for a kiss first, running the pads of his fingers through Greg’s short cropped gray hair. He’d always preferred it short, buzzed close. The texture of it as he massaged his lover’s scalp sent a shiver down his spine. 

It was nothing but heat and friction when their lips met. Their kisses were not tentative or exploratory. It was hard and fast and needy. Tongues met tongues, teeth nipped and tugged. Mycroft wanted to strip each layer of that perfectly tailored suit away and lick and suck at every millimeter of Greg’s skin. 

But he knew that a thorough examination of Greg would have to wait until later. They were booked at the poshest hotel in London tonight, and in the morning they were going on a short honeymoon to the Iberian Peninsula. Sadly, neither of their jobs would permit them to take more than a few days off, so they'd have to make the most of every single moment of it. That likely meant that they wouldn't be leaving their hotel room much, other than a few romantic meals that Mycroft already had planned.

Instead of working at the buttons of Greg’s tuxedo jacket, Mycroft sunk to his knees and made short work of his husband's flies and zipper. He had to make do with tugging the trousers down until they were around his ankles- another concession to their lack of time. They knew someone would come looking for them eventually if it was noticed that they were gone too long from their own reception. 

“Fuck… My..” Greg’s voice had dropped to a low growl, sending goosebumps down Mycroft’s skin. God, that voice was going to be the death of him. 

And found that didn’t want to die any other way. 

“Sadly, not here, Gregory. Tonight, I promise.” Mycroft flashed an evil smile up at Greg- one that only grew larger once he had his husband's tuxedo trousers pulled down. 

“Oh, no pants, I see. What a naughty boy you are, Gregory Lestrade.” 

Greg was already half hard, staring down at his lover on his knees in front of him, knowing what was about to happen. It only took the few moments of Mycroft pulling back his foreskin and licking a long stripe up the bottom of his cock, from the base to the corona, for Greg to become fully erect.

A low, rumbling groan escaped Greg’s lips and there was a soft thud as he banged his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and blindly reaching down to thread his fingers through Mycroft’s short hair. 

It was all the encouragement that Mycroft needed. He wrapped his left hand around the base of Greg’s cock as a makeshift cock ring- there was no need for the man to go off prematurely, after all. There were plenty of things he could do to tease the man and send him to the brink of pleasure before pulling him back from the edge. 

Over the course of their relationship, Mycroft had been practicing at working past his gag reflex, so he could take the entirety of his lover into his mouth. Greg was not overly gifted, perhaps on the long side of average, but his girth was impressive. Through practice he was able to get about two thirds of Greg down his throat, and he had every intention of doing just that, right here and now. 

But first, the appetizer. Mycroft licked and nibbled down the top of Greg’s shaft, while his right hand cupped his husband’s bollocks and rubbed small circles on the warm, wrinkled skin. Oh, his scent was heavenly. Mycroft could smell the sandalwood soap he used, the almost fruity aroma of his shampoo, and the underlying smell of Greg- musky and slightly sweaty from being cooped up in constricting trousers for hours. It was perfect. And it sent most of the blood rushing to the southern places of Mycroft’s body. 

As Mycroft continued to tease and lick and nibble at his husband, he could tell it took every single bit of Greg’s concentration to not buck forward. He ached for more contact, for friction, for SOMETHING, it was written in the grimace on his face.

And Mycroft would give it to him. 

He worked his mouth back towards the glans, taking a moment to lick around the crown of the corona and up the fissure before finally FINALLY opening his mouth and taking Greg inside- just the head at first. He used the least amount of suction to pull Greg in and hold him there. 

“Christ.. Mycroft. Please.” Greg’s eyes rolled back, and he this time he hit his head harder against the wall on purpose to try to clear his head so he wouldn’t come right there. Mycroft loved to hear Greg beg, and this only spurred him on more. He tightened his grip around the base of his husband’s cock and took in a bit more, using his tongue to guide the head down and back towards his throat. 

Mycroft decided that a nice hard, strong sucking off would be better than trying to deep throat here, since time was limited, so he changed his angle slightly, and instead of pulling more of Greg inside, he closed his lips around what was already there and formed a tight seal, enveloping Greg’s cock in warm, wet heat. 

This time, Greg didn’t hold himself back. He did rock his hips up- just a little, not enough to force himself too deep and choke his lover, but enough to get the point across that Mycroft need to finish this, and SOON. Even with the man’s hand around the base of his shaft, he wasn’t going to last long. His entire body was shaking with the effort of hold himself back from fucking Mycroft's mouth in earnest. He would never do it, never lose control like that, even if that was what his body was trying to make him do.

“Mycroft. Please. I need..” He paused taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I need you.” 

Instead of answering, Mycroft moved both his hands away from his cock and bollocks and settling them on his hips, giving Greg full autonomy over his movements. He started to bob his head back and forth, sucking enough to keep pressure on Greg’s cock, and using his tongue to swipe along the slit as he almost pulled out, before plunging back in again. 

There wasn’t much of Mycroft’s hair to hold on to- time and genetics had not been kind to him in that regard, but Greg tightened his grip on what he could, and held on for dear life. He arched his back, bowing out towards his husband and attempting to keep pace, matching his own hip thrusts to Mycroft’s steady bobbing. 

“Nnnnn… My… not.. gonna.. last..” Mycroft was busy, his mouth too filled with cock to answer, so instead he increased his pace. He moved his right hand from his husband's hip and started to stroke Greg’s cock in time with his mouth movements. He could feel his lover's body stiffen, his breath got fast and uneven, his eyes were shut tight, and his hand was painfully grabbing at the small amount of hair left on Mycroft's scalp. It was all a heady mix of scents and sounds and touch. 

“NNnnnngg…. Ahhhhhhh!” One hard thrust, then a second that left Mycroft almost off balance, a soft groaning cry, then the hot, salty spill of the first spurt of Greg’s essence coated Mycroft’s tongue, making him groan softly.

He was so focused on Greg, spilling another load of himself with every soft rolling push of his hips, that it took him a moment to realize that there was another sound in the room. 

The sound of a giggle. 

The sound of the door opening. 

By instinct, both Greg and Mycroft turned their heads towards the door to find the source of the sound, which meant that the tip of Greg’s cock slipped out of Mycroft’s mouth and dribbled the last of his come on the floor between his shoes. 

They came face to face with Sherlock and John, holding hands- stopped halfway in the door frame. It was obvious that they'd just been snogging somewhere, most likely as they walked down the hall in a similar bid to find an open, abandoned room. Sherlock’s hair was slightly mussed, and they both were lightly pink faced and full lipped, breathing heavier than would be normal for a simple walk. 

Time seemed to freeze. Mycroft wasn’t sure how many seconds (or days, or years) passed before Greg finally had the wherewithal to tuck himself back into his pants after almost falling over in his haste to get them back up to his waist. Mycroft used his hand to (as demurely as he could) wipe his lips of the offending liquid, and stood. 

Well, at least that was one way to stop almost coming in your rather expensive, bespoke pants, Mycroft thought forlornly.

“I see that you two finally figured out what the rest of us have known for years.” Mycroft quipped, before Sherlock could get a word in edgewise. 

“And I see that you were not able to control yourselves for even a few hours before your.. Sex holiday.” Sherlock almost sneered back. 

“And why then, may I ask, are you attempting to find a place to do the very same thing?”

“Okay, okay, girls. That’s enough.” John, always the voice of reason, broke up the tet a tat before it devolved into a petty brotherly feud. Greg sighed and ran his hand through his hair, then remembered where his hand had just been and pulled it away quickly- it was unlikely that his cheeks could have flushed any redder than they already were. 

“I would suggest that we all leave this room, two by two, lock the door, and pretend that this little incident never happened.” Greg looked over to Sherlock, who was blushing, despite the deep frown on his face, then over to Mycroft, who was pale and still slightly short of breath. 

“I agree wholeheartedly.” John nodded. “Us first. Let's go, Sherlock.” He gave Sherlock’s hand a little squeeze, but apparently his relatively new lover was more interested in having a silent staring contest / conversation with his brother. 

“Come on.” The Captain Watson voice was out now. Between that, and a much more insistent tug on Sherlock’s arm, he was finally able to get Sherlock to move. The door slammed behind them.

“Well, that was…” Greg’s voice trailed off. 

“Appalling.” Mycroft finished for him. Finally, he was able to relax, and his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, Gregory. I never intended for anyone to ever walk in on us doing… that.” 

Greg chuckled while he worked at making himself presentable to the public. “Me either, especially your brother. Christ, he's my brother in law now. What have I gotten myself into?”

“It’s too late now. You are in the family.” Mycroft smiled and shook his head. “Besides, Mummy and Father love you. I’m not sure if they would forgive me if we were to divorce now on the grounds of family embarrassment.”

“Yeah. I guess I’m stuck with you.” Greg attempted to put his hair into some semblance of order, what was on them be damned, and then leaned in, giving his husband a short, but not chaste kiss. “Mmmm. Tastes like me.” He said, and Mycroft could only shake his head again. 

“Well, I certainly hope so.”

“Come on. We’ve been gone for a while. I don’t want anyone else to find us back here.” He took Mycroft’s hand and led them back down the hallway, with a brief stop in the loo to freshen up (and get the taste and smell of Greg off of his lips- there would be time to re-apply it later). Afterwards, they made their way back to the main room, just in time to be announced for their final dance before heading off to their wedding night. 

Mycroft had chosen another slow waltz (also one of Sherlock's compositions) for their last dance- Greg knew the basics of the steps but was no expert, so Mycroft took it slowly as they made their way around the floor, surrounded by the smiling faces of friends and family.

When the dance was over, Greg took the microphone from the DJ for a moment, thanking everyone for coming. Afterwards, all of the guests lined up at the door and down the walkway towards the limo that would take them to their wedding night suite. 

At the very end of the path were Sherlock and John, flanking the last two spots in front of the limousine, and the driver, who held the door open for them. Rice rained down upon them as they made their way down the lane, until they reached the end. Sherlock and John gave them both a slight nod. 

The cheers of the small crowd filled their ears as the door was closed and the driver went around to start the car. Mycroft, who was on the near side to the guests, looked out the window, only to catch eyes with Sherlock again. His brother gave him a warm smile and a tip of his head, and Mycroft simply nodded in return. Nothing else needed to be said. Mycroft knew and approved of the relationship between his brother and John, and Sherlock was genuinely happy that Mycroft had found someone to share the rest of his life with, even if he purposefully never got Greg's first name correct.

As the car drove off. Greg leaned over and kissed Mycroft softly on the cheek. “Welcome to the rest of our lives, my love.”

“Yes.” Mycroft replied with a smile. “I look forward to what will come.”


	2. Art for 'Wedding Day"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a chapter, but a wonderful, awesome, amazing piece of art that I commissioned from the spectacular Kelley (AnotherWellKeptSecret).

This isn't a chapter, but a wonderful, awesome, amazing piece of art that I commissioned from the spectacular Kelley (AnotherWellKeptSecret).

Kelley's website- https://www.anotherwellkeptsecret.com/

Her Patreon- https://www.patreon.com/anotherwellkeptsecret/posts

Definitely give her stuff a look, she is just absolutely awesometacular.

Enjoy!!!

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of little Easter Eggs. I made Sherlock an online ordained minster because Benedict Cumberbatch actually is. He did a gay wedding for a couple of friends of his, which I thought was really cool. 
> 
> Also, the line John says about locking the door and pretending this never happened is an indirect quote and a homage to one of my favorite movies. Anyone have a clue as to what it is? No googling for an answer (though I'm not sure since it wasn't a direct quote if it would even come up).
> 
> Thanks again to my Twitter muse, sanguisuga. You are awesome.


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